


each day you'd rise with me know that i would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty

by Comicbooklovergreen



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: But she did 'cause she in love, Exploration of 1x05 events, F/F, Gwendolyn Briggs is ride or die, Gwendolyn did not have to do that thing, Post 1x07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27607544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicbooklovergreen/pseuds/Comicbooklovergreen
Summary: Post 1x07, pre-Mexico, during that luminous month.Mildred comes to a realization about why Gwendolyn confronted Dolly at the dance. To say the truth makes her unhappy would be an understatement.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 26
Kudos: 111





	each day you'd rise with me know that i would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there, kids. Not technically my first Ratched fic, but the first one not co-written with WildnessBecomesYou. Who I maintain is the Stevie Nicks of Ratched fics, both in terms of quality and quantity of work produced. 
> 
> So, you know. Be gentle, it’s my first solo outing.
> 
> That said, all us authors are sluts for feedback so. Comments, kudos, you guys know the drill.
> 
> PS. I still owe Stevie/WildnessBecomesYou on this. For the Tumblr bits that inspired it, for the music stuff, and for the title. So, thank you, Stevie, you be awesome.

Gwendolyn Briggs did not particularly like cleaning up her kitchen. She didn’t loathe it and she didn’t avoid it—she’d never been the kind to shirk away from what needed doing—she simply counted it as one of the more annoying household tasks. For the better part of three years, she’d been off the hook, mostly. Trevor cooked more often than she, and he was happy to pick up the chore as long as she wasn’t mad enough to suggest he get his hands dirty with any kind of yardwork.

Trevor wasn’t here now, by Gwendolyn’s choice. Mildred was, also by Gwendolyn’s choice, and it was absolutely the best decision she’d ever made. Mildred, for all her flaws and dark places, for all the times she’d driven Gwendolyn close to mad with frustration and longing, Mildred made everything better. Including the simple but formerly irksome task of picking up after dinner.

They stood side by side at the sink, Gwendolyn washing dishes and handing them off for Mildred to dry. It felt right, standing this close to Mildred, indulging in these simple moments of normalcy. Abbott and Costello drifted in from the radio in the next room. Mildred turned her nose up at them, called the humor inane, but she listened for Gwendolyn. Sometimes Gwendolyn even caught the twitch of a smile before Mildred hid it away.

They were still working on it. Gwendolyn was. Teaching Mildred that silliness was okay, that childish jokes could be okay. Mildred hadn’t had a childhood worth speaking of, so she struggled to understand this. Gwendolyn was determined to help her.

Even if that had involved a rather awkward conversation about the two comedians, whether they held any particular associations for Mildred. Gwendolyn wasn’t going to make the same mistake she had with the puppet show. She could never assume that feeling like a child again for a little while—something that always soothed her own heart—would do the same for Mildred. She knew, in fact, that the opposite was true. Childhood didn’t mean safety, not for Mildred.

This, though, this did. The two of them together, doing boring adult tasks, within reach of each other. Gwendolyn knew Mildred felt safe here because Mildred told her. Because she could see it in the way Mildred’s posture changed, the way everything in her seemed to loosen, relax, as soon as she entered their home.

It took longer than it needed to most nights, the kitchen. They’d get distracted with smiles or kisses, or Gwendolyn would put a glass where the mugs were supposed to go just to tease Mildred a little, just to prove that everything didn’t have to be exactly in its place all the time, that the world wouldn’t end if one bowl faced down instead of up in the cabinet.

Mildred Ratched did not like being trifled with, was a master at revenge, and so they got distracted easily.

Gwendolyn still counted it as a win for her, too, convincing Mildred that the dining room table had many uses, and that one could enjoy several different types of meals there.

Tonight, they mostly behaved themselves. Gwendolyn touched Mildred’s blouse with a sudsy hand once, and Mildred shrieked and batted it away, but she still kissed Gwendolyn for her trouble.

They worked in silence for awhile, save for the radio. Gwendolyn amused herself watching Mildred put up the dishes. She went on tiptoes sometimes to reach one of the higher shelves, and Gwendolyn enjoyed the view.

It happened when they were nearly finished. Gwendolyn washed her own wineglass from dinner, deciding she was done with alcohol for tonight. The couple of glasses she’d had already were enough, and she liked being relatively clear-headed around Mildred, being able to notice the little movements and quirks and micro-expressions that alcohol could obscure.

She’d also noticed that Mildred sometimes got uncomfortable if there was too much alcohol being consumed. Mildred drank, they’d even been back to the women’s bar once or twice with much better results, but never past a certain point. She liked the women’s bar now, but her eyes would change and her shoulders tense if someone around them was edging towards too drunk.

Mildred herself hadn’t acknowledged this yet, but Gwendolyn had a few scraps now. Bits and pieces about angry foster parents with booze on their breath. If Gwendolyn knew what kind exactly, she’d make sure it never entered their home.

So Gwendolyn was careful with her drinking, even though Mildred often giggled and said the wine made her taste even better than usual. A few more utensils hiding at the bottom of the sink and they’d be done here. Gwendolyn might pull Mildred against her on the couch, read aloud from the novel they’d started last week. Mildred, her brilliantly intelligent Mildred who noticed everything, took in everything, freely admitted to not understanding half the plot. She listened to Gwendolyn speaking the words, she said. How they fit together didn’t matter.

Frankly, Gwendolyn wasn’t much better off. She was only able to fill in the blanks for Mildred by rereading whole chapters while Mildred was at work. Her first readings were always taken up by Mildred’s scent, the way her body sank into Gwendolyn’s. Or, when Mildred’s head was in her lap, the way those curls felt against her fingers, the hums of appreciation let out as Gwendolyn pressed gentle fingers into Mildred’s scalp, easing the tensions of a long day.

Yes, they would read, Gwendolyn decided, as long as Mildred had no objections. She would speak someone else’s words to Mildred, calm her, relax her. And then later, only and always if Mildred wanted it, Gwendolyn would touch other places besides her scalp or her arms. She’d whisper words that were only hers, that no one else would ever hear because they would only ever belong to Mildred.

It was these thoughts that Gwendolyn lost herself in. Lost herself so much that she hadn’t quite noticed that she’d finished with her wineglass, handed it to Mildred. Hadn’t noticed that Mildred, perhaps as impatient as she was to get to more pleasant endeavors, moved to put the glass away now rather than waiting for Gwendolyn to finish the last few pieces of cutlery.

Gwendolyn didn’t notice until the glass hit the counter and then the floor, shattering on the tile.

Gwendolyn jumped and so did her heartbeat. Automatically, her eyes went to Mildred. She said Mildred’s name, halfway to asking if she was all right. She stopped because the question would’ve been pointless. Mildred was white as the freshly cleaned plates they’d eaten from. Her hands were shaking.

At first, Gwendolyn thought the glass must’ve been wet. That Mildred hadn’t dried it well enough and it slipped from her hands. That idea was quickly dismissed. Mildred was thorough to the point of perfectionistic in everything she did. She wouldn’t deem the glass dry if it wasn’t. Gwendolyn next thought about the radio, made herself actually hear it for the first time in minutes.

Music hurt Mildred sometimes. Most anything by the Andrews Sisters was off-limits. Their voices sent Mildred back to war, to endless screams and blood-soaked uniforms. It was supposed to make the boys happy, Mildred told Gwendolyn once. Take them away from the hell they were living, that many of them eagerly signed up for.

_“It was supposed to make them happy and brave, boost morale. All it did was torture them. Remind them exactly what they were missing out on while everyone else was safe at home.”_

‘Over the Rainbow’ was also a non-starter. Mildred liked Glenn Miller, she liked Judy Garland sometimes, but not in that song. That song sent Mildred back to some farmhouse in what passed for her childhood. Blow after blow, sometimes Edmund’s punishment too. She’d told Gwendolyn that people could be like storms, like tornados. That they could do just as much damage, more.

No Andrews Sisters though, no Judy. It was still Abbott and Costello carrying on, and they weren’t Mildred’s idea of high entertainment, but they couldn’t be responsible for this. At least as far as Gwendolyn knew.

There were so many things Gwendolyn wasn’t aware of; knew she wasn’t aware of. She was a politician. Research was her bread and butter. It was her job to know everything there was to know about the candidates she served, know even more about the competition. Information made things manageable. Threats, scandals, tries at blackmail. She was confident enough in herself and her abilities to believe that, given all the facts, she could handle almost any crisis.

She did not have all the facts on Mildred and, for the most part, Gwendolyn accepted this, even enjoyed it. She enjoyed learning something new about this sweet, smart, beautiful woman every day. She enjoyed knowing that there was so much left to uncover. It was like opening a gift every day in December and knowing there was still a mountain of presents waiting on Christmas morning.

Mostly, it was like that. Right now, Gwendolyn wished desperately that she knew more, that she’d pushed for more. She couldn’t help if she didn’t know what was happening or why.

Priorities then. Address what she did know, work her way to the rest. She knew that Mildred was in stockinged feet. That the glass was on the ground. Whatever the reason she’d dropped it, Mildred was too close to it now.

“Sweetheart,” Gwendolyn said.

Her voice was soft, but Mildred jerked. Her eyes met Gwendolyn’s and Gwendolyn very nearly took a step back. There was a wildness in those brown orbs, a shade of panic she’d never seen before. The closest thing to it was maybe the bar in Monterey that first time, and Gwendolyn remembered well what happened at the bar. Mildred ran from her. As fast as she could, and very, very far, in spirit if not body.

Gwendolyn could handle a lot. She could handle this, whatever it was, because she had to. Because she wanted to, for Mildred’s sake.

She could not handle Mildred running from her again.

“Mildred.” She held out her hand. “Be careful, darling, the glass—”

“Stop it!”

The words came sharp and shrill. “Stop what, Mildred?”

“You—you weren’t careful. You weren’t careful at all. What, what’s wrong with you?”

Mildred hugged herself and swayed, as though the sure, strong legs that roamed the halls of Lucia every day might fail her at any moment. “I’m sorry,” Gwendolyn said. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry, Mildred, truly. Can I come to you, darling?”

She just wanted Mildred away from that glass. A cut or even several, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, and Gwendolyn would deal with those too, if she had to. But Mildred had already lost enough blood for several lifetimes, borne too many hurts. One more wound was too many, as far as Gwendolyn was concerned.

Mildred shook her head, over and over. “You should’ve left,” Mildred sobbed. Sobbed, and broke Gwendolyn’s heart. “You could’ve left, you should’ve left, you—God, how could you? How could you be so fucking stupid?”

Already behind here, the vulgarity made it even worse. Mildred didn’t swear really, not outside the bedroom. Their rarity made those words all the sweeter when Gwendolyn did manage to pull them from Mildred’s lips. There was nothing sweet in them now.

Retracting her hand, Gwendolyn held both of them out, palms-up. “Talk to me, baby, please? Just talk to me. It’s alright. It’s going to be alright.”

“Stop!” Mildred repeated with all the same anger, desperation. Gwendolyn flinched and almost grabbed for Mildred when she got dangerously close to one of the larger pieces of glass. “You did this already and it wasn’t. It wasn’t, Gwendolyn!”

Gwendolyn took too long to figure it out. They were weeks past that now. The dance. The gun. Dolly firing the gun. The way the bullet hit her before it’s sound did, how it stole her breath before Gwendolyn knew what was happening.

Gwendolyn didn’t know what had brought this to the forefront now. Maybe nothing. Maybe it wasn’t caused by any sound or smell or color around them. Mildred’s brilliant mind wasn’t always her friend. It could hurt her with the suddenness of a slap to the face, a kick to the stomach, delivered for no reason by people meant to protect her.

Mildred was very good at protecting herself, and she was also terrible at it.

The why of it didn’t matter, not immediately. All that mattered was that it was hurting Mildred, and on track to do worse. “Mildred,” Gwendolyn said, holding still.

“You should’ve left me. Why didn’t you leave?”

Gwendolyn watched the way Mildred’s knees knocked together, how she swayed in place so close to the glass. Gwendolyn’s grandmother used to say that glass jumped. You’d think you’d cleared up all of it, and the next day you’d stumble over a piece halfway across the room, nowhere near the original spill. You never knew where the glass would land. An unlucky day, a careless step, and you could be bleeding from something sharp and dangerous that might’ve hidden there for days, months, or longer.

Gwendolyn never understood that as a child, hadn’t thought of it in years. She thought she understood now, because of Mildred.

“I didn’t leave you because I couldn’t.” Gwendolyn hoped she sounded calm. “I won’t ever leave you.”

Mildred made a sound between a whine and a wail.

Gwendolyn’s heart went to pieces, but she ignored them. She’d pick them up later, along with the broken glass. After Mildred was safe. “I’m going to come to you now. Mildred? I’m coming to get you.”

Gwendolyn kept her voice even, did her best not to spook Mildred, but she didn’t make it a question. She was going to get Mildred away from the thing that might hurt her.

Mildred didn’t fight, thank God. She let Gwendolyn put both arms around her, guide her past the mess on the floor. She wasn’t even watching where she was going, her face half-buried against Gwendolyn’s shirt.

“Okay,” Gwendolyn murmured, navigating across the kitchen tile. “Okay, that’s alright. That’s alright, sweetness, I’ve got you now. I’ve got you.”

She managed to switch off the radio as they passed it, reaching around Mildred’s shaking frame. Abbott and Costello didn’t need to be here for this.

Gwendolyn released a silent breath once she had them safely on the couch. One less hurdle. Her fingers traced along Mildred’s cheeks, losing a race with the tears flowing there.

They really should invest in more handkerchiefs, or Kleenex. Gwendolyn was the happiest she’d ever been, thought Mildred was too, but they really did do a lot of crying between them.

“Okay,” Gwendolyn said again, blinking away her own tears. “All right. This is about the dance? That’s what’s hurting you?”

“You got hurt,” Mildred said through sobs.

Gwendolyn thought she heard an accusation in there somewhere, under the panic, the despondency. “Yes, I did. And then the doctors fixed me, and I got better.”

Aside from the cancer, but now wasn’t the time for that conversation.

“You got hurt because of me.”

“Mildred. Darling, you couldn’t have known what they were going to do.”

They’d already talked of Mildred’s guilt, Mildred hating herself for inviting Gwendolyn to that dance knowing the plans she’d had for Edmund, the plan they’d hatched together. Even if it all went how it was supposed to, Gwendolyn still would’ve been exposed to blood and fear and chaos as Edmund cut himself.

Mildred hadn’t known how else to get close to Gwendolyn. It would’ve been so terribly easy. Gwendolyn would’ve gone anywhere with her, done anything Mildred wanted.

Except Mildred didn’t know how to want for herself, didn’t think she had the right. She couldn’t let herself have Gwendolyn unless she was serving Edmund in the process.

Gwendolyn knew all this because Mildred told her, said things, and didn’t say things and painted enough of a picture for Gwendolyn to understand.

Mildred didn’t start to realize how broken her relationship with her brother was, how unequal, until that night. When he said one thing and did another for the second time.

Gwendolyn could comfortably say it was worth it just for that. If her getting shot was the catalyst for Mildred understanding that she was allowed to break from Edmund, _needed_ to, then the bullet and the scar it left were small prices to pay.

Except Mildred didn’t feel that way. Mildred was still hurting.

“You got hurt _for_ me!”

Gwendolyn frowned. “What do you mean, baby?”

“You were away from them. You and Betsy, they didn’t know where you were. You could’ve stayed hidden.”

“I couldn’t, Mildred. You were out there.”

Mildred’s face absolutely crumbled, and suddenly Gwendolyn understood.

Mildred thought, until moments ago, apparently, that Gwendolyn faced down a madwoman with a gun for everyone in that room.

Mildred had this idea in her head that Gwendolyn was some sort of angel on Earth because Gwendolyn had shown her kindness, because Gwendolyn loved her. Mildred thought that was some sort of extraordinary feat, and it made Gwendolyn an angel.

Mildred didn’t understand that, despite everything, loving her was the easiest thing in the world. It wasn’t some grand, difficult act, it was breathing. Loving Mildred was as simple as breathing, and Gwendolyn was only human, she needed to breathe.

Which was why she hadn’t seen any of the other partygoers that night. She’d heard commotion, heard screaming, and she’d left Betsy Bucket without a second thought. Because Mildred was out there.

Half a second of relief at seeing Mildred standing in the middle of the nightmare, alive and unharmed, and then Gwendolyn saw that psychotic nurse with the gun, saw it aimed straight at Mildred.

Mildred, who sat before her now looking broken and terrified, maybe even betrayed.

“Why would you do that?” Mildred asked. “You’re smarter than that, Gwendolyn, you have to be smarter than that!”

Gwendolyn could’ve laughed if the situation were different. As if her intelligence had ever played the slightest part in her relationship with Mildred. As if logic had ever factored into it. It was her heart and her instincts that led her to Mildred Ratched and, lacking a better option, Gwendolyn told her that.

“You were in danger,” she said. “I didn’t think, I just reacted.”

Would she have been the brave, selfless martyr Mildred had thought her to be if things were different? If it wasn’t Mildred that Dolly was sighting with that gun, would Gwendolyn still have confronted her, for the sake of everyone else in that room?

Maybe. She didn’t know. She didn’t know because all she’d seen was Mildred, about to be killed. All Gwendolyn saw was the air she needed to breathe about to be taken away.

“You can’t react like that,” Mildred said, and she was still so angry. “Not for me, not ever. I would’ve been fine, Gwendolyn!”

Gwendolyn could’ve pointed out what she knew to be true. That Mildred would’ve done the same thing if their positions were reversed. She didn’t because she knew it wouldn’t help. Because she knew Mildred didn’t view them as equals, didn’t think their lives held the same value.

It made Gwendolyn sick and angry, but it was the truth and she was working on exposing it as a lie, but she hadn’t gotten there yet.

“Maybe. But if you hadn’t been, if you weren’t fine, I never could’ve…” Gwendolyn trailed off, swallowed. “I had to, Mildred.”

Mildred shook her head so hard and fast that Gwendolyn worried she’d hurt herself. “No, no, no, you didn’t. Not for me. That was the most ridiculous, absurd, _stupid_ thing, Gwendolyn. You can’t do that for anyone ever again, and you certainly can’t do it for me.”

Gwendolyn couldn’t give the real answer to that one. That out of everyone in the world, Mildred was the only person she could absolutely guarantee that she’d do it for. Again and again, every time.

She couldn’t say that because it wouldn’t help Mildred now, and somewhere along the line, far too quickly, helping Mildred when she needed it took priority over everything else.

Gwendolyn wanted to pull Mildred in close, pull her in so their hearts could beat against each other, and maybe Mildred would feel what was in hers, why she had to do it. But she’d learned early on that taking Mildred where she didn’t want to go never ended well.

“Please come here, Mildred?” Gwendolyn made it a question this time, held her arms open. “Will you let me hold you, darling?”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Mildred repeated. But she didn’t argue. She went to Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn exhaled a breath as Mildred shuddered against her. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” She tucked Mildred’s head under her chin, fitting them together in a move that was second nature by now.

“That’s not the point, Gwendolyn. That you—that you did it at all—so stupid, so fucking stupid.”

It occurred to Gwendolyn that the only time she’d heard Mildred cursing anything like now was when she learned about the cancer. When Mildred came back to her begging for forgiveness, a life, and Gwendolyn said she didn’t have one to give.

_Listen to me, God damn it._

Was this how Mildred felt then? Desperately trying to convince her that she could be saved, that she must be saved?

Gwendolyn rocked them softly, back and forth, back and forth. She hummed and cooed over Mildred, pitching her voice low in hopes that Mildred would feel it as much as hear it. She gave reassurances and made nonsense sounds, the same way her mother had for a younger Gwendolyn, in a world that’d been so much simpler but still so often felt like it would end.

They were simple things, yet no one had done them for Mildred. She’d gone decades without ever experiencing the comforts most people took for granted.

Gwendolyn did them now, over and over, until Mildred’s breathing started to calm. She was still crying, still hurting, but Gwendolyn thought they’d reached a point where Mildred would at least be able to hear her.

The collar of her shirt soaked with tears, Gwendolyn put her lips to the side of Mildred’s head, left them there. When she spoke, her words ghosted against Mildred’s skin.

“I’m sorry you hurt right now,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry this is hurting you like this.” She took a breath. “I wish I could tell you that I regret doing that. If I could tell you that, if it would take any of this pain from you, I would. But I can’t.”

Mildred made another broken sound, nearly animalistic in the pain it held. She tried to pull out of Gwendolyn’s grip again, but Gwendolyn was ready for it.

“I would rather see you hurting right now, with me, where I can help you,” Gwendolyn said, adjusting her hold to compensate for Mildred’s movements, “than have you gone. Have you, have you gone somewhere I can’t reach you.”

Her voice was cracking. Shit. Hopefully Mildred wouldn’t notice.

“I will never let anything happen to you,” Gwendolyn said. “That’s my first priority, always.”

Mildred shook her head against Gwendolyn’s chest. “It can’t be.”

Gwendolyn chuckled as she kept rocking them, couldn’t help herself despite the situation. “Oh my love. I love you so much, but I’m afraid that’s not your choice to make.”

“I can’t be the reason you go. I can’t, Gwendolyn. I can’t, I can’t, I—”

Gwendolyn wanted to tell her that she’d be the best reason in the world to go. Short of dying peacefully in Mildred’s arms, defending her, knowing she’d been able to keep Mildred safe was the best kind of death Gwendolyn could ever hope for.

She couldn’t say that.

“You haven’t lost me,” she said instead, tightening her arms around Mildred just a fraction before loosening it. Mildred would bruise either way, Gwendolyn feared, but the least she could do was try not to make it worse. “You feel that?” she murmured. “I’m right here holding you, and I’m not going anywhere. And I can’t,” the words stalled in her throat, and Gwendolyn had to force them up into the world, to Mildred. “I won’t let you go anywhere either.”

“But you almost did. You almost left.”

“Almosts don’t count,” Gwendolyn replied, tried to bring in a hint of levity.

It didn’t work. “God—God damn it, _why_? Why, Gwendolyn?”

She sounded so confused, so baffled, under all the tears and anger. Gwen knew Mildred hated that feeling, the feeling that she wasn’t understanding something obvious to everyone else.

Mildred shouldn’t have had that feeling now. If anything could break Gwendolyn’s heart into tinier, more jagged pieces, it would be this

“I’m not worth that. You can’t do that, I’m not worth it.”

Gwendolyn nearly seized. Her whole body railed against that statement so violently that she almost thought she’d been shot again.

Her hands gripped Mildred’s shoulders. She pushed enough to get some distance between them. Still holding one shoulder, Gwendolyn took Mildred’s chin between her fingers.

“Don’t you say that again. Ever.”

She hadn’t meant it to come out like that, as rough as it did. She sounded angry because she was. She hadn’t known true anger until she met Mildred. But it wasn’t Mildred she was angry with, and Gwendolyn wasn’t sure Mildred understood that.

Christ, what bullshit. She was sure Mildred didn’t, couldn’t understand that. There was no reason for her to understand it, and that was the very source of Gwendolyn’s rage.

“Gwendolyn—”

“Don’t. Don’t say that again. Please.” Her voice was too sharp on the first word. She managed to soften it for the others, but some of the steel stayed behind, and she let it. “Don’t you dare say that again. Don’t think it.”

But she knew Mildred would. Over and over and over, Mildred would. So Gwendolyn would have to remind her, over and over and over until the words got past all that hardened scar tissue, sank in.

“You are worth,” Gwendolyn’s voice failed her for a moment, and she hated that. She couldn’t falter here. “There’s no price high enough. You are worth everything, Mildred Ratched. Absolutely everything.”

Mildred squirmed away from the words like they were stinging blows, not promises of utter devotion. “You don’t understand.”

“No. No, I do understand. This is,” Gwendolyn’s voice quit on her again and she cursed, inside and out. “I understand this part so fucking clearly, Mildred, you have no idea.”

“But you—”

“If I hadn’t been shot, if I hadn’t tried to protect you. I’d probably be gone by now.”

Mildred _jerked_ at that. Gwendolyn might have touched her back with a piece of iron fresh from the fire.

Gwendolyn had expected it though, expected how Mildred would thrash in her arms, try to physically run from the idea. She’d expected it and she was right because she was learning Mildred Ratched, slowly but surely. She’d expected it, so she simply adjusted her hold, keeping Mildred with her.

She would do anything and everything in her power to keep Mildred with her. Always.

“Shh,” she murmured. “Shh, shh, shh. Listen. Listen to me. We found the tumor because of it. I’m here because of it, because of you. I had to protect you, and protecting you saved me. You saved me. You,” Gwendolyn swallowed. “You save me every day, Mildred.”

Gwendolyn waited to see if Mildred would say anything, but she didn’t. That was fine. Gwendolyn wasn’t done.

“Mildred.” Gwendolyn eased back, made Mildred ease back enough that their eyes could meet. “Even if they hadn’t found the tumor, even if there was nothing to find—”

Mildred jerked again at the mention of the tumor. “Stop,” she said, but didn’t try to pull away this time.

“Even if they hadn’t,” Gwendolyn said, and it was a risk, continuing when Mildred said not to, but most everything was a risk with Mildred, “I wouldn’t regret it. No matter what happened. Can you understand that?”

“Gwendolyn.”

“I love you. I love you so much, Mildred.”

“I love you too.” Mildred almost sounded pained from it. She couldn’t let Gwendolyn say it without saying it back, and Gwendolyn knew that. “Gwendolyn—”

Gwendolyn could hear the protest in her own name. “I will always keep you safe, and I will never regret it, because you are worth everything to me. You are everything Can you understand that?”

“No.”

It was a broken wail, only a little muffled by Gwendolyn’s neck, which Mildred returned to hiding in just before giving her answer. An answer that hurt Gwendolyn’s heart, but was also oddly comforting.

At least Mildred was being honest with her.

She let Mildred burrow against her, brought a hand to the back of Mildred’s head so she could turn it slightly. Mildred’s breath came in rough pants against Gwendolyn’s throat. “That’s okay,” Gwendolyn said, hoping the vibrations from her voice would do something to soothe Mildred. “That’s alright. We’ll work on it.”

“Gwendolyn.”

The word sounded like it hurt Mildred’s throat. “We will work on it,” Gwendolyn promised.

“We can’t do that if you’re not here,” Mildred said after a moment.

She sounded so small, so scared. “But I am. I’m right here,” Gwendolyn said, shifting her grip so she could hold Mildred tighter. “I don’t have a death wish, I promise.” She let a bit of humor hit her voice. “I’m only going where you go from now on, Mildred. You stay right here, and so will I, and we’ll work on the rest. Okay?”

Mildred didn’t answer her in words, or couldn’t, but she pushed in closer to Gwendolyn, stayed in Gwendolyn’s lap as she shook.

And Gwendolyn held her close, rocked her. Listened to her cries and stored them within herself, because that too was part of protecting Mildred.

And Gwendolyn would protect Mildred until all the breath was gone from her body, and after that if she could, if there was some sort of after.

And she would never regret it, not for a single moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr. Come yell at me there if you want.
> 
> https://cblgblog.tumblr.com/


End file.
